Day 49, Year 988, 41st Millennium
Hive Alpha:
The Hive Spire
"So, the details of this meeting... it's really about those Xenos, isn't it, Draco?" Vann asked his subordinate, who walked closely beside him. Vann adjusted his General's uniform, ensuring every medal and seam was perfectly aligned. If the rumors were true, the situation on this planet was teetering on the edge of a crisis that could only be averted through immediate, controlled intervention.
"Yes, sir," Draco replied. "When I met with that woman, I also spoke with Commander Omega. He has extensive experience and knowledge regarding the Orks. As soon as he confirmed their presence on this world, I came straight to report to you."
Commander Omega had already alerted all relevant departments. He hoped for an appropriate response, as the situation was far too grave to ignore. That was the catalyst for this summit—a gathering to seek consensus and devise a strategy to neutralize the Ork threat. It was also a litmus test to see which factions would actually cooperate.
"I see," Vann muttered. He felt a gnawing suspicion. There were no historical records of Orks ever appearing on Opel III. Typically, they arrived via "Space Hulks" or "Roks"—asteroids hollowed out and fitted with engines. Had such a vessel entered the system, the orbital defense grids should have detected it long before impact. Yet, there had been nothing. They had simply appeared. The worst-case scenario? Someone had smuggled them onto the planet.
Vann and Draco stepped into the Great Hall, a chamber of breathtaking opulence designed to flatter the egos of the high-born. The soaring ceiling featured frescoes depicting the God-Emperor and the nine loyalist Primarchs. Chandeliers crafted from rare gemstones cast a brilliant light across polished marble floors and tables carved from priceless off-world timber. Hundreds were in attendance: PDF Generals, high-ranking officers from various House Guards, and the influential lords who governed the planet's diverse Hive Cities.
Among them sat Vann's brother, Valen Korvax, engaged in a deep, private conversation with Magos Juris. They seemed to be discussing critical repairs for the manufactorums in Hive Kathion.
The atmosphere was thick with tension and the low hum of collective anxiety. Lords argued over the data, some strategizing for the future, while others laughed the matter off as a tedious joke. Amidst the din, a sharp voice cut through to Vann's ears.
"Absurd! Orks on Opel III? Are you really going to believe a report from Valen Korvax's mutant lapdog?" It was Lord Harken, his voice dripping with disdain.
"But the report is comprehensive," a General countered. "And Commander Omega is an off-worlder with a reliable record. There are even pict-captures of the specimens found."
"They're probably just green-skinned mutants!" another voice barked. Vann turned to see Lord Ritus Rist, the same nobleman who had consistently blocked his military budget increases. "That mutant—Omega—just wants to stir up trouble and waste our time. And you lot are just using this as an excuse to beg for more funding!"
Vann ignored the bickering and opened the briefing folder on his table. The report was thorough, marking sightings and providing a primer on Xenos biology. While Vann had already studied these creatures, he had to admit the document was exceptionally well-written—clear, concise, and impossible to misunderstand for anyone with half a brain.
The room fell silent as an elderly nobleman, the Council President, officially opened the session.
"My Lords, ladies, and esteemed officers," the President began, his voice resonant and calm. "We are gathered to discuss the response to the foul Xenos threat known as the Orks."
The room erupted instantly.
"I don't believe a word of it! House Korvax is playing us for fools!"
"If we are to fight, we use my plan! My Hive must be protected first!"
"How do we know the images aren't forged?"
"The tactical manual provided is useless!"
"Silence! Have some decorum!" the President roared. The shouting subsided into a sea of disgruntled whispers. "We will now hear from the man who discovered the threat and called this assembly. He will explain the situation himself."
The President gestured toward the main doors. They groaned open slowly, and a lone figure stepped through.
Vann watched with a mix of surprise and grudging respect. He hadn't expected Omega to be bold—or suicidal—enough to walk into a den of hundreds of hostile nobles and officers who viewed him as an abomination.
Every eye followed him. He wore armor that, at a glance, looked no different from a standard PDF conscript—the "flak" gear of a meat shield. However, a trained eye could see it was crafted from high-grade materials designed to stop mid-caliber rounds. He wore a dark green beret over a pale, scarred face. One eye was bandaged; the other glowed with a haunting, psychic violet light.
Commander Omega, the Left Hand of Valen Korvax, moved with a lethal, predatory grace. An aura of cold violence seemed to radiate from him, chilling the air and forcing the room into a sudden, uneasy silence.
Then, the insults began.
"Get that disgusting mutant out of here!"
"Guards! Remove this rogue Psyker! This is a sacred hall of governance, not a freak show!" a noblewoman shrieked, shielding her eyes.
"He's a heretic! Burn him!" shouted a representative from the Ecclesiarchy.
Valen looked on with a hint of pity for his subordinate, while Vann remained impassive. This was exactly what he had expected. He knew Omega's history: a survivor from Cadia, a world of soldiers. Omega had grown up in a brutal environment, hounded by an Inquisitor because of his burgeoning psychic gifts, eventually fleeing across the stars until he found service under Valen.
Omega took a step forward. When he spoke, his voice was heavy and resonant, cutting through the vitriol with an unnatural weight that made the listeners' skin crawl.
"You may call me a blight, a mutant, or a heretic. That is your prerogative as 'noble' lords," Omega said, his voice flat and devoid of emotion. "I have found their corpses. These Xenos reproduce via spores. What I found were only the scouts. If left unchecked, they will return in numbers that will double—then triple—in a heartbeat."
He paused, taking a slow breath.
"I beg you... set aside your pride and listen. I have seen worlds far wealthier and more powerful than this one fall to ruin within months because their rulers were too arrogant to admit the enemy was at the gate."
The nobles who had been shouting just moments ago now sat frozen, pinned by that single, glowing violet eye.
"They dismissed them as mere beasts. They waited," Omega continued. "And the Orks used that time. They multiplied. They built scrap-iron war machines and towering 'Gargants.' By the time those rulers realized their mistake, their defenses were nothing. The Orks don't fear, they don't retreat, and they don't tire. I have seen them eat men alive. I have seen the 'human farms' they leave behind."
"The Orks are not mutants. They are a living plague. Their only goal is eternal war. If we fail here, they will strip this world of its resources, build ships, and move to the next."
"I am not here to seek your validation. I am here to tell you that if we do not cooperate—if the PDF and the House Guards do not act as one—we will be forced to beg for outside aid. We will have to pray for the Space Marines, and there is no guarantee our cries will ever reach them."
He let the silence hang for a moment before delivering his final blow.
"I ask for your cooperation to cull them now, while their numbers are manageable. Treat them as a nuisance now, or they will become your executioners. Those who stand with the defense of this world, raise your hands. We will discuss tactics in a more... suitable location."
The hall was deathly silent. Lords who had spat insults only minutes ago were now pale, swallowing hard against the cold reality Omega had painted.
Vann smiled. He hadn't realized his brother employed someone capable of staring down the entire planetary elite with such blunt defiance. Vann shrugged slightly and was the first to thrust his hand into the air.
"I'm in," Vann declared.
Slowly, tentatively, other Generals and a few pragmatically-minded nobles began to raise their hands. Many others remained still, their eyes burning with a mix of fear and a newfound desire to see Omega dead.
________________________________
Day 49, Year 988, 41st Millennium
Eric opened the door slowly before stepping into his room. He scanned the space, noting the layer of dust that had begun to settle on the floor and furniture after two weeks of neglect. Closing the door behind him with a weary sigh, he still felt a dull ache lingering in various parts of his body. However, his physical form had been fully restored; the bruising from the blast had faded, and the environmental toxins that had seeped into his system—the cause of his recent illness—had been thoroughly purged.
Thinking back to the treatment process made him scowl. The galaxy was disturbingly small.
The person who had treated his injuries was the same Tech-Priest Biologis who had saved his life once before. It had been a grueling experience; the Tech-Priest hadn't even bothered with anesthetics. The sensation of watching himself being operated on while fully conscious was a nightmare he wouldn't soon forget. He lost count of how many needles had pierced his skin this time, but despite the pain, Eric hadn't let a single groan escape. Compared to the last time, this treatment felt almost merciful.
He walked to the wardrobe without haste. The light filtering through the window indicated it was still daytime in the Upper Hive. Setting his bag aside, he stripped off his grime-stained gear and changed into a comfortable T-shirt and shorts—his preferred attire for relaxing.
He began cleaning his room at a steady pace, checking to ensure his belongings were still in order. It was an exhausting task that drained his energy, requiring him to scrub every nook and cranny. Once finished, Eric wiped the sweat from his forehead with a towel. He gazed at the pristine room with a sense of satisfaction; he couldn't stand the thought of living amongst dust and filth.
As his stomach let out a low growl, he offered a dry smile. He reached into his bag and pulled out some bread and a tin of Grox meat. This would be his second solid meal after enduring over a month of nutrient slurry, even during his recovery.
After checking that his electric oven was still functional—aside from a bit of dust—he wiped it down with an oily rag until it gleamed. He opened the tin, placed the meat on a tray, and slid it inside. But when he flicked the switch, the oven remained lifeless.
"Is it broken?" Eric muttered, a hint of panic rising. This oven had been expensive, and he had no idea how much a repair would cost. He grabbed a set of screwdrivers and began dismantling the casing to check the internals, but everything looked intact. Did I miss a step? he wondered. Just then, he spotted a slip of paper tucked underneath the unit—the manual.
"That was close..." he whispered, scanning the instructions. His brow furrowed as he realized his mistake. "Oh, I see... I forgot the Litanies of Ignition and the Rite of Machine Spirit Appeasement." He rubbed his head sheepishly. How could he have forgotten that in this world?
Following the manual, Eric recited the prayers to soothe the Machine Spirit. The oven hummed to life. He heated his food and savored the simple meal, thinking that if it weren't for his financial struggles, he'd eat like this every day.
Suddenly remembering something, he finished his meal, cleaned the dishes, and rushed to count the credits in his bag. He tried to recall the price of the cake he had been craving. He had seen it before; it was expensive, but today, he didn't care.
Checking the clock, he saw it was only noon. He quickly changed into polite, inconspicuous clothing that allowed him to blend in with the crowd. He checked his reflection in the mirror, satisfied that he looked decent and not overly eye-catching, before slinging his satchel over his shoulder.
He locked his room securely and headed toward the commercial district at a brisk pace. His destination: the bakery. The scent of sugar and baked dough made his heart race with anticipation. Today, nothing would stand between him and that cake. I just hope no one steals it this time, he thought warily, remembering how Raul had once snatched his treat right in front of him.
The bell chimed as he entered the shop. The aroma of synthetic sweeteners and caramelized sugar filled his lungs. The shop was small and dimly lit with warm, amber tones—a stark, luxurious contrast to the harsh world outside.
He approached the glass display. His eyes immediately locked onto a fresh cream cake, elegantly decorated. It was a luxury far beyond the typical budget of a humble scribe, something he usually only glanced at in passing.
"I'll take this one," Eric said, pointing without hesitation. He handed over the credits and took his prize to a quiet corner. Using a small spoon, he sliced into the soft sponge and took a bite. The richness of the cream and the sweetness of the synthetic flavoring melted on his tongue. It was a world away from the salted meat and bland slurries of the past month.
Absolutely delicious, he thought. To be honest, it tasted more like a "cake-substitute," but he wasn't complaining. This was his first taste of true pleasure since waking up in this grim dark future. Every bite made the struggle for survival outside the Hive feel worth it.
After finishing, he wiped his mouth, shouldered his bag, and headed to his next destination: the bookstore.
As he stepped inside, the scent of aged paper and ink replaced the sweetness of the bakery. At the counter sat a middle-aged man—the shopkeeper. Eric remembered him as a typical merchant who boasted incessantly about his wife. Last time, the man had compared Eric to her, a comment that still irritated him for reasons he couldn't quite name.
The shopkeeper looked up, recognizing Eric immediately. It was hard to forget someone with such striking white hair, delicate features, and a shy, hesitant demeanor. The man offered a warm, patronizing smile.
"Hello there, pretty lady... back again? What is it you're looking for this time?"
Eric ignored the comment, trying to maintain his composure. He didn't want to waste time on idle chatter. He glanced around to ensure no other customers were nearby, then leaned in close to the counter to place his specific order.
"Do you happen to have any more modeling magazines and adult novels like the ones I bought last time?" Eric's voice was so soft, as if he were afraid someone would overhear him. The shop owner, hearing this, simply raised an eyebrow in curiosity before smiling broadly.
"Oh, those kinds of books, huh? I have plenty of those. Modeling magazines are expensive, and those kinds of items are hard to find. How many do you want?" The shop owner said, ducking under the counter to search for books in a hidden compartment.
He felt a little embarrassed and awkward buying these things in his female form, but his desire for the modeling magazines and adult novels was stronger. He bit his lip softly, held his breath, before speaking again.
"I'll take ten of them." Eric sighed deeply when he finished speaking. He reached into his pocket and counted the money. He didn't know if he felt it, but saying that made him look terrible. A normal woman wouldn't buy that many of these books.
"As you wish, " the shop owner added, gesturing as he searched for books. He didn't tease or show any surprise.
But it seemed he was curious too.
The shop owner emerged from under the counter with a thick adult book and ten model magazines as ordered. Each book had a different author's name and story. He skillfully stuffed the books into a paper bag, his feet darting back and forth between the books he was handling and the pretty young woman in front of him. Normally, his customers bought various types of books, but mostly not adult books or model magazines. And this woman had just ordered ten of these at once.
"Why are you buying so many? Are you going to read them all in one go?" the shop owner asked, his face showing suspicion and a thoughtful expression, as if trying to figure out why this seemingly shy and modest woman would want to buy so many of these books at once.
Eric flinched slightly, trying to remain calm. He needed to find an answer that seemed reasonable and wouldn't make him look bad. The most reasonable answer would be, "I bought so many at once because it's more cost-effective and I don't have to go out and buy them often, which would be embarrassing." Not an answer like, "I just wanted to indulge in all this media at once."
"Uh... so I don't have to go out and buy them often... because it would be very embarrassing," Eric replied, slightly hesitant but trying to keep his voice normal.
The shop owner, who was neatly packing the ten books into a large paper bag, nodded understandingly at his explanation, though still somewhat puzzled. Once the shop owner finished packing the ten books, he handed Eric the receipt. Eric took the receipt and paid for the books.
"Then good luck, customer," the shop owner said, handing Eric the books and accepting the money with a smile. Eric smiled faintly in return before turning to leave the shop and return to his room. But before he could leave, the shop owner called out to him.
"Wait, customer... You're the first person this year to buy ten books at once." "I recommend this book," the shop owner said, turning around to face Eric. He held out an old, worn book.
Eric stared at it; it was incredibly old, the pages a pale yellowish-brown.
"This book is like trash to me, and it's pirated, but I think you might like it. It's called 'Phoenix of Chemos and Gorgon of Medusa,' and remember, everything in this book is fictional and for entertainment purposes only." The shop owner offered the book to Eric. Eric hesitated for a moment, but eventually accepted it and shoved it into his bag.
He hurried back to his room, locking the door securely.
"I'm exhausted," Eric wiped the sweat from his forehead, placing the bag containing the ten books on his bed. He grabbed a glass of water and took a sip. He began to undress, changing back into his usual t-shirt and shorts.
Once dressed, Eric collapsed face down on his soft bed. And believe me, even though it wasn't the softest bed he'd ever slept in, it was still comfortable compared to sleeping on a hospital bed or on the toxic sand. This soft bed made him feel relaxed, and he unconsciously let his pale legs swing gently in comfort.
He reached for the coded box before bringing it closer. Eric tore open the paper bag and picked up the books, tearing open the wrapping to carefully examine the details and contents of each book. He knew he hadn't specifically ordered these books, and he hadn't even chosen them himself. It was purely random; he might get the books he wanted, or he might not.
Once finished, he arranged the books into two piles of five. One pile contained adult books, and the other contained model magazines. The content of both types of books was excellent; he felt it was well worth the price.
"At least it was worth it," he murmured to himself, reaching for the book at the top of the stack and opening it. He began reading from the first page, reading through it without skipping a single line to absorb as much as possible. He found himself smiling slightly and blushing a little as he read about some rather suggestive and provocative scenes.
"The author of this book deserves praise," Eric thought to himself as he flipped through the pages to check the author's name. He realized the author used excellent descriptions, easily creating vivid imagery, and equally effective metaphors.
He continued flipping through the pages until he was halfway through. His neck and body ached, so he stood up to stretch a little.
Looking out the window and glancing at the clock, it was already evening. Eric rubbed his eyes, realizing how quickly time had passed. Just then, he noticed an old book, a freebie from the shop owner: "Phoenix of Chemos and Gorgon of Medusa," at the bottom of the adult fiction section. The title was quite long, meaningful, and rather enigmatic. He'd read it later, after he finished this book.
Eric lay face down and continued reading the book. But after reading about a third, he felt something strange, and it was a feeling that was quite familiar.
Even though he was now a rather beautiful woman and his personality had changed slightly, his tastes hadn't changed much. Except for the occasional attraction to certain men, that was it. He still liked the things that normal men liked.
He turned to the next page, sighing softly. Books like this helped him relieve stress from what he had been going through, but now they were stimulating a basic desire that made him feel a little uncomfortable.
Eric frowned as he tossed and turned on the bed, feeling uncomfortable and strange. Looking in the mirror, he realized that dealing with this desire in the way he had envisioned was quite unacceptable.
"Damn it...who would do something like that to a body like this?" Eric muttered softly, burying his face in the mattress to try and suppress his embarrassment.
But in the end, he closed the novel he was reading, because he was afraid he wouldn't be able to control himself and would do something to satisfy his desires. He placed the book on the pile of books on the bed, wondering what he could do to keep himself from becoming too engrossed.
Eric's eyes fell upon an old book, "Phoenix of Chemos and Gorgon of Medusa." Judging from the cover and the paper, it didn't seem to contain anything too provocative or suggestive. He reached for it and began to read.
He settled into a comfortable position, loosely draped the blanket over his legs, and carefully opened the first page. As he opened the book, a strong, aged scent wafted into his nose. This book was definitely many years old and deserved to be in a museum rather than being read.
Just a slight fold of the corner of the page caused it to tear. It was incredibly fragile. His eyes nimbly scanned the words in the introduction.
"A forbidden love story between Prime Minister Fulgrim and Prime Minister Ferrous Manus..." he murmured as he read. It seemed the author of this book was incredibly bold to write something like this, despite the warning that it was counterfeit and that the events in the book were not factual. The author must have been incredibly brave, even recklessly so.
But he hadn't even finished reading the preface yet.
"Hey!!!! Erika!! Are you there?" Livia's voice, calling from the doorway, startled Eric, almost making him fall out of bed. He hurriedly and frantically hid the books under the bed. He didn't want her to see him reading so many books; otherwise, he'd be teased for ages.
"Hi Livia, wait a minute, I'll open the door," Eric replied quickly while tucking the last book under the bed.
"Where have you been for two weeks? I was so worried," Livia asked, her voice full of concern. Eric quickly opened the door before hastily answering to reassure his friend. Of course, it was the most believable and convincing lie he could think of.
"I had a little accident, I had to recover..." Eric, wearing only a t-shirt and shorts, leaned slightly against the doorframe, trying to answer as naturally as possible.